Breath-Taking
by chatnchew
Summary: Five times Kent found Dean to be breath-taking, and the one time he said so.


**1.** Kent could remember very vividly the first time he and Dean visited the Rockwell lake together. He couldn't remember if said lake even had a name (the beatnik always just referred to it by what it _was_ , not what it was _called_ ), but he could definitely remember that night out on its shore. The stars seemed to be shining just a little brighter that time, decorating the sky above them like dew drops on a fine carpet.

The beatnik never really seemed like someone keen on swimming– which was exactly why Kent dragged him into the water after he playfully shoved him in. Kent was laughing, as he realized he was acting out of good humor, but he'd be damned if he didn't try to exact petty revenge. But when they'd both finally tired themselves out splashing water at each other, Kent got a good look at Dean wet under the weak moonlight.

And he looked _beautiful_.

Kent's jaw fell open and for a few silent moments, broken up only by the sound of water dripping and the buzz of crickets chirping, he took in the whole sight of Dean brushing back his dark wet bangs and blinking lake water out of his eyes and the way his skin nearly glowed under the stars.

Dean was dragging him back to the lake's shore before Kent could gather his wits and comment on it.

 **2.** Was it perhaps wrong to admire the way Dean looked while he worked? Kent found it to be a bit of a guilty pleasure.

Every weekend Kent spent some time watching Dean put together scrap to make his art. He liked to be on standby just in case something happened, or in the even rarer circumstances he needed any help. He was usually so self-sufficient that all Kent was really there to do was spectate. And _spectate_ he did.

There was a particular bit Kent found he was never going to get tired of. The strained worker's squint that was always on the beatnik's face when he lifted up his welder's helmet, the little smile (or sometimes, the little frown) that tended to shape his expression further, the look that was ripped straight from some poster for propaganda was not so extreme as to be comical, but focused enough to inspire a sort of gentle awe. It was a fascination similar to the way one felt when exploring and truly _seeing_ nature for the first time.

It left Kent holding in a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

 **3.** If it was guilt-inducing to admire Dean in his element, out on his property making art, then it was downright sinful to behold him as a spectacle in the bedroom.

Kent was worn out, his eyelids drooping over his bleary blue eyes, but he wanted to try and stay awake for as long as he could. Dean was sprawled out beside him, eyes closed, breathing heavy still (his role took all the work after all) and trying to bring himself back to reality. A tickle of pride brushed across Kent's chest, and he pulled the pillow he'd been strangling closer to his person.

The idea of voicing the sort of gratitude that was befalling him suddenly descended upon Kent. He rather liked the idea; even then, so far into their relationship, he felt as if words of thanks (and by extension, appreciation) weren't something he offered up enough.

Before he could even open his mouth, Dean let out one long, tired sigh, and sank a little more into the bed. _Dammit._ Kent's eyelids drooped further, and soon enough he too was fast asleep.

 **4.** Mornings were sometimes hard for Kent. He blamed Dean for that, jokingly of course; but ever since he'd moved in with the beatnik, waking up later had become a staple of his routine. Getting up for work every day was a pain and left him wishing for time to speed up so the weekend could be upon them sooner.

Kent trudged into the kitchen, his brain operating on autopilot, and was broken from his sleepy spell with the surprise of seeing Dean had already started making their first pot of coffee. He arched an eyebrow and blinked a few times. Usually he was the first one up; but it seemed that Dean had been the first to roll out of bed instead.

He cast his gaze over to their petite kitchen table and as expected found Dean sitting there. His second surprise was how appealing he was finding the beatnik at that very moment. There wasn't anything particularly stunning about him as it were, but… Kent found himself staring more than out of exhaustion.

It was that same tiredness that kept him from saying anything, however. And soon enough the moment of transfixion faded, and Kent was more focused on pouring himself a cup of coffee instead.

 **5.** "You look wonderful."

Kent blurted the words out; or rather, whispered them rather suddenly. It was rare he got to take Dean out, and whenever he did it was always in a few cities over, away from the gossip circles of Rockwell. The restaurant wasn't particularly fancy, but even just a tad more clean Dean looked significantly more handsome. At least, he did in Kent's opinion.

The beatnik turned a rare shade of pink and smiled lopsidedly. For once he didn't refute Kent's statement. He couldn't help but grin.

"You agree?" Kent teased. "That's a first. But really– _I mean it._ And I don't think I say it enough."


End file.
